


Up the Waterspout

by PinkMi1k



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Dark, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Hostage Situations, Infidelity, Kidnapping, M/M, Mental Instability, Mind Manipulation, Mindfuck, Obsession, Prostate Milking, Rape/Non-con Elements, Size Kink, age gap
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:21:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27538264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkMi1k/pseuds/PinkMi1k
Summary: May dies after a long drawn out battle with cancer, leaving Peter both in debt, and in trouble. Unbeknownst to Peter, May has one miracle left in her in the form of Tony Stark. She calls him up, and her last words are, “Love him better than you did me.”Peter is whisked away in a fairytale like fashion, quickly forming a familial bond with Vision (Tony’s adoptive son - biological son to the late Jarvis), and soon has to contend with the romantic complications of being involved with the intense Wade Wilson (Tony’s biological half brother - son of the late Howard Stark), the gentle affections of his long time best friend and childhood crush, Harry Osborn, and the insidious and malicious attentions of a twisted Quentin Beck.All while trying to dodge the minefield that is Tony Stark himself.Right. Piece of cake.
Relationships: Harry Osborn/Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Vision, Peter Parker/Tony Stark, Peter Parker/Wade Wilson, Quentin Beck/Peter Parker
Comments: 11
Kudos: 72





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings will be posted at the beginning; they will change depending on the content of each chapter.  
> PLEASE MIND THE WARNINGS AT THE BEGINNING OF EACH CHAPTER!!!
> 
> Chapter 1 Warnings:  
> Side Character Death (off screen)

“Peter. Parker,” Vision muttered, rolling each name separately in his mouth. His blue eyes stayed scanning the plethora of legal papers and documents strewn about in front of him. Certain details of consequence stood out from the haphazard heap. He was born on the tenth of August, parents, deceased, guardians, a Ben and May Parker, deceased as well, though May seemed to have just passed a little over two months prior.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Vision murmured, his periphery catching the twitch said young man gave out of the corner of his eye. Setting down a small stapled stack of papers, he readies his practiced speech and sighs out, “As I’m sure you were already made aware, I’m here on behalf of one Tony Stark, independent of Stark Industries. Information mentioned during this meeting or any sessions in the foreseeable future involving a Mr. Peter Parker and a Mr. Vision Stark, speculated or otherwise, does not reflect on the company, its shareholders, or its values.” Eyes still trained on the letter accompanying the will of one May Parker, the corner of Vision’s mouth ticks up at the following nervous inquiry.

“D-uh, do you have to say that often?” Peter bit out anxiously, bringing his shoulders up to his ears amidst his shuffling.

“More than you can imagine,” he replied warmly. “You’re May’s,” Vision glanced downwards, “nephew?” A nod.

“Yes.” Peter paused, waiting for a reaction. In receiving none, he continued, “to be honest, I don’t really know what I’m doing here. May mentioned a friend that would look out for me, but I never expected it to be Tony Stark. And even if it is Mr. Stark, I’m seventeen. I’m legal, so I could just apply for a job, and I’ll be out of your hair.” Peter said all of this in a rushed, eager manner that made Vision cock his head.

“Mr. Parker, Peter. May I call you Peter?” Another nod, but this one was accompanied by a blooming hesitant smile. “Tony sent me here with the explicit instructions of making sure your immediate and secondary needs were to be met. Do you know what that means, Peter?”

“Ng-uh, I get that maybe he’s just a nice guy? But I really don’t need any handouts, honest. I’ve got friends, I ca–”

“Peter,” Vision insisted, cutting off the young man’s rambling, making him flush a bright red in embarrassment, “this is not a handout, nor is it charity. This is Tony Stark paying back a favor he couldn’t possibly hope to fulfill under any circumstances less than extenuating.” For a moment, Peter’s large brown eyes searched his. For what, Vision wasn’t certain, but they must have found what they were looking for because bit by bit, he watched tension seep out of Peter’s shoulders, and anxiety he hadn’t known was present, suddenly melted off of his face.

“I-yeah. That must’ve been some favor,” Peter whispered back. Brown caramel curls flopped against his forehead at the resigned huff he gave.

“It certainly was,” Vision replied unnecessarily. Looking around at the aged, empty apartment, he couldn’t help but wonder how long the boy had been going without. How much of the furniture was sold to pay for the funeral arrangements? How much of it was repossessed due to unpaid bills? Did the rusting fridge hold any food, or were they as empty as the dilapidated cupboards? He didn’t voice any of these thoughts, however, and opted instead for, “Are your things packed?”

Peter gave a slow nod of confirmation. “Excellent. Shall we?”

* * *

The drive to Manhattan was relatively quiet, save for Peter’s occasional humming and excited commentary, both of which, amused Vision to no end. He seemed so soft, Vision thought, warm in a way that he was unused to seeing in people who typically had to encounter a tragedy, much less a series of tragedies, as was Peter’s case.

Upon pulling up to a stately brownstone building, Peter pressed himself against the cab’s window, silent in his sheer disbelief. “We’re here?” Peter asked, bewildered, “This is where I’ll be staying?”

“Yes,” Vision chuckled, opening the door for him, “You and a few… family members will be staying here.” Peter blinked, shouldering the pathetically sparse collection he called his belongings.

“Family? I didn’t know Mr. Stark remarried,” Peter said, a peculiar edge in his voice.

“He hasn’t,” he replied easily, “but there’s Wade and I. Occasionally, Pepper, if you can call her that.” Vision felt around for his keys. Peter’s copy was laid on his mattress, along with a fully furnished bedroom, adjoining study, and bathroom, situated on the third floor. Tony had mentioned Peter’s circumstances and instructed Vision to make sure everything was as comfortable and as ready for the new inhabitant as possible.

“Pepper?” Peter asked, surprised. “Like, Potts? His secretary? That’s nu– woah,” Peter breathed out reverently. Large double doors opened to an uninterrupted view of copious amounts of concrete space, steel beams and modern furniture, while a stocked professional grade kitchen peaked shyly from somewhere in the far back. “This is huge,” he whispered, mouth agape, spinning slowly in a circle in an attempt to take in everything at once.

“It needs to be,” Vision responded calmly, eyes twinkling, “in order to peacefully house everyone here.” Peter shot him an inquisitive look. “You’ll find that Tony doesn’t share, and neither does his brother.”

“Brother!” Peter exclaimed, mouth falling open, “Wade Stark? I’ve never heard of him before.” Peter paused, disbelief coloring his tone, “He sounds made up.”

“It’s not Wade Stark,” a voice replied drily, “it’s Wade Wilson. Same dad, but he was an asshole so I took my mom’s last name.” Peter startled, then turned his body to face a tall figure clad in red and black leather, slouched on an overpriced velvet armchair, broad shoulders spanning the entire back. “And the only thing made up around here, baby boy, are your papers saying Tony’s the father.” Cutting blue eyes shifted derisively to Vision’s own, “Did you even bother with a DNA test, or are we taking anyone in these days?” Vision raised an eyebrow, looking entirely unimpressed.

“Mr. Stark isn’t my dad,” Peter hissed, voice full of indignant offense, “he’s my…” he trailed off, large chocolate brown eyes turned on Vision, imploring and unsure.

“Guardian,” Vision finished, smiling reassuringly at Peter, “He’s your guardian.”

“Great,” Wade cut in, tone acidic, “another stray.” He stood suddenly, running large scarred hands down strong thick thighs, and walked away with a lazy gait.

“Another?” Peter asked as they slowly made their way to the pristine marble kitchen.

“He means me,” Vision replied, sinking down on an island stool, facing Peter’s standing figure.

“Do you mind if I…?” Peter asked, gesturing vaguely at the shelves and pantry.

“Help yourself,” Vision replied automatically, if not distractedly.

“You were saying?” Peter coaxed, eyebrows raised.

“Ah yes. You’ll find out eventually, and I daresay it’s better to hear it from the source,” he continued, smiling in dry humor as he eyed the slowly multiplying cookware with poorly disguised interest, “I’m Tony’s adopted son.” Peter yelped in surprise, knife nearly nicking his fingers as he chopped tomatoes, “but he took me in out of necessity. My father used to work for Tony’s family, you see, from even before Tony was born.” Vision watched idly as Peter’s palm pressed the garlic cloves into horizontal pieces with the flat side of his knife.

“Things weren’t always the best in the Stark house. Responsibility and obligations were prerequisites to the wealth, so as you can imagine, Howard wasn’t always around. My dad,” Vision paused, “he practically raised him, or so Tony’s said.”

“They were close,” Peter empathized, thinking of his own uncle, and fired up the gas stove.

Vision hummed in agreement, the hissing of sautéed onions and minced garlic escalating with the delicious aroma. “Shortly after Tony hit his teens, some woman came by and left me with my dad, saying I was his. And a few years after that, an accident happened. Some kind of car crash.” Vision’s voice dipped, and Peter caught Vision’s eyes in support, eyebrows furrowed in concern as he followed along.

“Both Starks were out for the night. My dad was the one driving them.” Peter let out a pained sound. Vision smiled sadly. “Tony was barely your age, then, and I was a few months shy of five. I was lucky that he wanted to take me on at all, or I would’ve ended up lost in the system.” They were both silent, Peter taking in Vision’s words, and he, reminiscing in memories long buried. “Tony had to grow up fast, but he tried his best. Even though he never let me call him dad, he’s the only father I’ve ever known.” Stillness settled over them both as Peter let the story sink in.

“Yeah,” Peter finally replied, “I know what that’s like.” They spent the next half hour in companionable silence, save for the sizzling of the cooking food, each swimming in their own thoughts. Peter reflected on the gratitude he felt in his good fortune even in such times of tribulation, and Vision in his musings of wanting a deeper familial relationship from someone who flinched every time they had to see his face.

Vision was pulled out of his thoughts, however, when a plate teeming with food was slid right under his nose. “Oh? You didn’t have to–”

“I wanted to,” Peter said firmly, “it’s Aglio e Olio. I hope you like it.” Vision took a bite, and from the expression on his face, Peter beamed. He did like it, Vision considered, and as he watched the new addition to the Stark household putter around the kitchen, he knew there would be a lot more things to like from here on out.


	2. Chapter 2

**_LeederNed:_ ** _  
you still haven’t sent pic of new daddy_

**_BaeEmmJayy:_ ** _  
lmaoooo don’t you have like 3 of those now orrrr_

**_PeetSTAR:_ ** _  
asdlfkj;lkjao;sif can we NOT guys_

**_LeederNed:_ ** _  
share pics you butt_

**_BaeEmmJayy:_ ** _  
stop being selfish @PeetSTAR_

**_PeetSTAR:_ ** _  
I’ll send pics when he gets home_

**_BaeEmmJayy:_ ** _  
you said that shit last month parker n I don’t so no fuckin pics  
*see_

**_LeederNed:_ ** _  
lol xD_

**_PeetSTAR:  
_ ** _He never came home! Or if he did, he leaves like right away._

**_BaeEmmJayy:_ ** _  
then flash some skin n give him reason to stay_

**_LeederNed:_ ** _  
try the shorts peter you know the ones_

**_BaeEmmJayy:_ ** _  
aaayyyy your fat ass swallows those SON_

**_PeetSTAR:  
_ ** _AHAHAHAHAHIhateyoubothHAHAHAHA  
t(-.- t)_

**_LeederNed:_ ** _  
lmfaAooOoo disCUSStang @BaeEmmJayy  
no u don’t x) @PeetSTAR  
gg guys, i got work in a few hours_

**_PeetSTAR:_ ** _  
Tomorrow’s Wednesday? Thought you only worked weekends?_

**_LeederNed:_ ** _  
changed my sched so I could catch the comicon with you guys  
wait.  
we’re all still going right????_

**_BaeEmmJayy:_ ** _  
duh bitch_

**_LeederNed:_ ** _  
:c_

**_BaeEmmJayy:_ ** _  
my bitch ;P_

**_LeederNed:_ ** _  
:3_

**_PeetSTAR:_ ** _  
ahaha about that… ( ._.)_

**_BaeEmmJayy:_ ** _  
I swear to FUCK if you bail parker I’ll  
… help me out here ned_

**_LeederNed:  
_ ** _leak that yearbook pic of peter’s ass_

**_PeetSTAR:  
_ ** _It was an obstacle course for GYM, and that station had SQUATS  
LET IT GOOOOOOOOO ( / - \\)_

**_BaeEmmJayy:  
_ ** _I will when you send daddy stark dick pic_

**_PeetSTAR:  
_ ** _Are you SURE you’re gay?????_

**_LeederNed:  
_ ** _@PeetSTAR D: she’s bi peter das gay nuff >:c_

**_BaeEmmJayy:  
_ ** _thank you @LeederNed I see I only have one friend here_

**_LeederNed:  
_ ** _np :D_

Exhaling, Peter threw his torso against the back of his computer chair, the heel of his palm pressing into strained eyes. It was already four in the morning, and as much fun as gaming with his best friends was, sitting at his computer desk is all he’s done in the last month since he’s moved into Casa Stark. (Don’t ask; Wade was the one who kept calling it that, and it just sorta stuck.)

Peter’s acclimated fairly well to his new living arrangements, even if most of that time he’s spent cooped up in his room. If he had to be honest though, it wasn’t hard to adjust when you sat in the lap of luxury and opulence. He got up and stretched, smiling in satisfaction as his back popped in several places, and meandered down the staircase, making sure to keep his footsteps as light and soundless as possible.

Without being asked to, Peter had taken to cooking breakfast and dinner for the residents of the house as a means to keep busy. He found an added good deal of gratification in his routine, however, when he started to notice Vision regularly getting up just a _bit_ earlier than usual, in order to eat Peter’s food. It was such a miniscule gesture of appreciation the older man had shown him, but it made Peter happy all the same, pushing him into making Vision boxed lunches as well. This left Peter feeling satisfied thinking he had a purpose, however small, in making a positive impact in someone else’s daily routine. It felt nice, knowing that Peter was sharing his aunt’s goodness, or at least cooking skills, with people, in whatever capacity.

It had been a few days since he’d started making the older man his work meals, and Peter had yet to see an instance when the lunchbox came home in a state other than empty. Every time Peter noticed this fact, his chest would warm, and he’d set his alarm for the same time the next morning. It really was no effort on his part, Peter mused, thinking of the more unsavory alternatives he’d have had to resort to, if it weren’t for Mr. Stark’s generosity.

Engrossed in his musing, Peter barely managed to muffle a shriek at the human-like figure that jumped out at him when the motion detectors turned the kitchen lights on.

“Woah, woah, kid. Where’s the fire?” Blinking bleary eyes as he willed them to adjust, Peter squinted.

“Mr. Stark?” he asked, tilting his head to the side. Mr. Stark was in a fitted well loved t-shirt, a couple pin prick holes wearing at the edges of the sleeves, and a pair of khaki plaid pajama pants. Faintly, Peter could make out the label, “B U R B E R R Y” running down a firm leg.

Walking cautiously across Mr. Stark’s field of vision, Peter felt very aware of his state of undress, and grabbed at a cloth hanging on a wall. He brought a white apron over his head and tied it to his naked torso. The thick cloth only came down to his boxer-brief clad thighs. He didn’t typically bother to dress in the mornings. Peter was usually done and out of sight by the time the two men lumbered out of their rooms, wakefulness kissing their eyelids, and on the rare occasion one of them did catch him out and in his skivvies, well. It wasn’t like they didn’t all have the same equipment.

“Nope. Nuh uh. None of that ‘Mr.’ business. People call me Tony or daddy, but I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to fall in the former, not the latter.” Peter flushed. With a wry smirk, Tony cocked an eyebrow, “What’re you doin’ up so early? Don’t growing boys need their rest?”

Immediately, Peter straightened, subconsciously drawing himself up to his full 5’6” height. “I’m legal, an adult, practically,” he grumbled, almost like a reflex. People often mistook him for someone younger due to his height and soft skin. It’s the eyes, bro, Ned would tell him. Nah, it’s the stupid look on your face, MJ would quip.

But standing in the kitchen, facing Mr. St– Tony, he didn’t want to be seen as a child, as another added burden to the man. Tony had to raise Vision at such a young age, and if the tabloids were to be believed, he took Wade in a short while after. (Peter could recall some old newspaper clippings saying that some kind of explosives incident took the life of Howard Stark’s model mistress.) In his adult years, he had a company to run, millions of employees to look after, and now this. Now Peter. At the very least, Peter wanted to prove that he was self-sufficient, and maybe, if he worked hard enough, Mr. S–Tony could someday see him as someone who added value to the household. His life, even.

“Okay Mr. Grown, you still didn’t answer my question. What’s got you up so early?” Tony’s face softened. “Have you been sleeping, or are you still…?”

He’s referring to your aunt, a voice said to him as he looked at Tony’s concerned face in confusion. Shaking his head, Peter replied, “My aunt had cancer. It was drawn out, so it sucked because she was in pain, but it was good in a way that it let me grieve her while she was still here.” Pulling pans and ingredients, Peter continued, “and I’m not up _early_ Mr. Stark, I’m up _late_.” He threw a wink over his shoulder. “Can’t be early if I haven’t slept yet.”

Peter heard Tony huff out a laugh, “Yeah sounds about right. What’re you making, Mr. Grown?”

“Food,” Peter replied, “Wade loves a large stack of pancakes with his cereal, and Vision likes a light avocado, tomato toast with a poached egg to go with his coffee.” Well, today they did. It all depended on the day, typically, but today was Wednesday, so Vision would appreciate the light breakfast; he often ate a heavier lunch on the weekdays, anyway, in the event that he had to take a working lunch on top of the one Peter already prepared for him. And Wade loved his sweets for breakfast, but favored something cheap, heavy, and savory for dinner. Like tacos, or chimichangas.

Peter felt Tony give him a long pointed look. “Peter, if they wanted a housekeeper or a cook, I could just hire one. You don’t have to do all,” he paused, gesturing at the slowly simmering food, “this.”

“No!” Peter blurted, eyes wide and panicked. Tony startled, leaning his weight off of the counter, away from him. “I mean,” Peter coughed, flushing, “I like cooking, Mr. Stark. I like this. It’s fine. They like my food.” Tony gave him a considering look, making Peter warm even further. “It’s fine!” he insisted, “I really do like this. They like it too. It’s nice.”

Tony eyed Peter considerately. “And they both eat here?” Peter nodded. “Together?” Peter nodded again, this time distractedly flipping the pancake with his left hand. “Huh,” Tony said, “must be some food.” Peter flushed with pleasure. It sure was. It was all Aunt May’s recipes. “Well,” Tony continued, slowly lowering himself on a chair, “don’t mind me. Just give me a bit of everything you’re making.” Tony stretched out his legs, knees popping.

“Lunch, too? I’m making Japanese,” Peter asked, eyeing the ingredients he set aside speculatively. There should be more than enough for two adults if he made a broth or sauce to go with the meat. Should he make a curry?

“Lunch? It’s four in the morning, kid.” Peter shot him a look. “Peter,” he answered with a smile.

“It’s four fifteen, actually,” Peter murmured, starting to chop, “but I’ll need all the time I can get, if I’m gonna be able to have these lunches packed and ready for Vision to come down, have his breakfast, and still make it to his job at seven am.” He could feel Tony piercing him with another one of his looks.

“Peter,” Tony started again, voice taking a concerned note, “this is really unnecessary. I can ju–”

“I remember her best,” Peter cut him off, voice cracking, “when I can smell her cooking, Mr. Stark.”

Tony fell silent, and finally relaxed back into his hair. And if Peter saw Tony dozing off in the middle of his cooking, the smell and constant sizzling lulling him to sleep, well. He didn’t mention anything of it.

* * *

“Aww, baby boy,” a mocking voice yanked Tony out of his slumber, “you shouldn’t have.” Tony blinked, watching a similarly (under)dressed Wade pull out a chair, and plop himself down, boxers first. Burn scars raced up and down the entirety of his body. Even his face and (lack of) hair weren’t exempted, pickled skin rising and falling with the uneven terrain of his scarred dermis. “If you’re gonna fuckin stare, Starky McStarkfuck, you can take your bitch ass upstairs,” Wade said, voice flat, dangerous.

“It’s my house, Wade. I look at what I want because I own everything in it,” Tony replied to the other man’s increasingly acerbic look.

Peter could tell tensions were rising, so he hurriedly swirled whipped cream on the thick stack of pancakes and walked them over to the table. Breaking the hostile staring contest, Wade’s lips stretched into a pleased smile when he caught sight of the picture his breakfast made. A cheerful pancake bear with chocolate chip eyes, banana slice ears, and whipped cream mouth greeted him. “Baby boooyyyy,” he called, quick grabby hands darted out to smack Peter’s derriere, “I love iiiiittttt.” Peter squeaked at the impact, wincing at the loud indecent noise, but not altogether hurt or surprised.

It was Tony, however, who seemed to feel some type of way.

“Cut that shit out,” Tony hissed, livid, “you don’t do that shit in my house.” Peter turned to look at him, shock coloring his cheeks. He couldn’t tell the exact reason why Mr. Stark was angry. Was it due to the already existing conflict from their prior interaction, or was it something else that he didn’t like?

“It’s not your fucking house, dipshit,” Wade bit out, voice completely devoid of emotion, “dad left this shit to _me_. None of your business what gay shit I do in it.”

“And he left the company to _me._ ” Tony’s eyes were narrowed, a vein becoming visible on his furrowed forehead.

“The fuck do I care about your bitch ass company. Only thing it’s good for is getting people killed.” Outside of his lips, Wade held himself still. Scarily so.

“I run the company. I make the money.” Tony retorted, voice increasing with his pointer finger slamming onto the table at his every point, “I keep everyone’s lifestyles running.” When he banged his fist on the table, Peter jumped, heart leaping into his throat. “I don’t care if the house is under _your_ name because I’m the one paying for everything in it,” Tony roared.

Wade’s face twisted into a snarl, and Peter could tell he was shaking in his efforts to stay still. Any minute now, Peter knew, any second, he’s sure to see Wade throw himself across the table and straight at Mr. Stark’s throat. Wade’s voice pitched lower as he growled, “Fuck your company. Fuck your blood money. Fuck your–”

“ _Good_ morning, gentlemen,” Vision cut in, voice clear and placating. Peter exhaled a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. He’d never felt so relieved as he did right then, body slumping forward and onto the heel of his palms, as he used the edge of the counter to keep himself up. “Gorgeous breakfast, as always. Thanks mom,” Vision, commented fondly with a smile, dropping a kiss at the crown of Peter’s fluffy hair, hand hovering protectively around his person. Vision was staring at Tony pointedly over Peter’s curly head, jaw clenching and unclenching. Tony met his disapproving look with one of his own, indignation flaring in the pit of his flexed stomach, which slowly gave way to resignation. He knew Vision wasn’t fond of Wade either, so the faint disappointment he saw there stung that much more. 

If anyone asked Vision, however, he thought Wade was being Wade. He’ll always have Wade-like behaviors, but Tony. Right now, Tony was the problem because he couldn’t control himself and he really should have known better.

Tony huffed, slowly exhaling as he looked down at his own plate. A small green something topped scrambled eggs and a strawberry cream crepe was curled lovingly in the corner of the plate against flower shaped bacon. Was that bacon? Turkey bacon? Whatever it was, it had Tony’s throat feeling tight. He couldn’t remember the last home cooked meal he’s had. Was he seventeen when he last had one? Fifteen? A twinge of guilt worked its way through his chest when his eyes were inevitably drawn to the young man who made him his breakfast. Peter was stooped low over the lunch boxes, brown paper bags left standing, forgotten, with silly faces drawn on both. He looked like he was shaking.

“I’m – it’s – I’m o-fine,” Peter stammered, looking down at his hands clenched around a Rubbermaid container. He had sectioned off the rice and the small stack of seaweed sheets from the thick curry so nothing would get soggy or spoil. A post-it note was tacked on the maroon lid, clearly stating who’s lunch was who’s. “Mr. Stony Tark,” he had cleverly written, feeling delighted at the nickname he made up on the fly that morning, a little scribbled star bracketing the name on both sides.

Vision gently placed his hands on the last plate remaining, waiting for Peter to throw him a shaky smile before walking to the dining table and its tense occupants. The silence was deafening, and you could cut the tension with a knife, but after a few seconds of just focusing on his breathing, Wade’s cough drew Peter’s attention back to his direction.

“The,” Wade started, then stopped. His cadence was rough, a hint of caution and concern woven through his gravely voice, “food is really good.” He paused again. “Thank you,” he said sincerely, staring at his breakfast, refusing to meet Peter’s eyes.

Peter’s smile was firmer now, fond, upon noticing how Wade had drowned his pancakes in Canadian maple syrup. “Of course. What time will you boys be back?” he asked, making a mental note to remember the time he needed to have dinner set up.

“I won’t be,” Tony replied, avoiding the accusatory glance Vision shot him, and the look of contempt Wade gave, “back.” Peter looked at him blankly. “I won’t be,” he tried again, “back. Tonight. Or if I am, it’ll be late and I won’t need anything, so don’t wait up.” Wade snorted as Tony threw him a sharp frown.

“He’ll be with Pepper,” Vision supplied helpfully to Peter.

“You mean he’ll be _in_ Pepper,” Wade snarked, cackling around a mouthful of syrup and carbs.

Vision watched curiously as Peter seemed wilt in on himself. Hmm. Interesting.

“Oh,” he said in a small voice. Right, Peter thought. Ms. Potts. She was a thing. They were a thing. They’ve been on and off for years, haven’t they? It was all over the news. This wasn’t something new, so why did it _feel_ new? Peter felt confused. Instead, he straightened, shooting Tony a fleeting fixed smile. “Alright have fun.”

“Uhh thanks?” Tony asked, fork hovering a few inches from his mouth.

Peter settled his mind by keeping his hands busy, and soon the kitchen was back to its spick and span self. Shortly after hanging the apron back on the hook, Peter walked the table to Vision, one hand clutching a paper bag, the other rubbing his eyes. His lack of sleep was catching up to him. “Here ya go, big baby,” Peter said around a yawn.

“Thanks mom,” Vision replied with a smile. Peter couldn’t help but smile back through his leaden eyelids. Vision was seated in the middle, Tony and Wade on the far opposite ends of the table. Seeing as Wade was done with his food, Peter walked over, taking the plate gently from scarred hands.

“Glad you liked it,” Peter murmured, absentmindedly running his free hand over Wade’s broad, bare, stock still back. Wade was so big, Peter thought. Why was he so… _big?_ “Be careful, and get home safe, kay?” he whispered into Wade’s temple as he gave him a tight one armed hug. Peter eyes felt like they weighed a billion pounds.

“Ngh,” Wade replied intelligibly, shocked.

“Put your plates in the sink when you’re done,” Peter told the other two men, squeezing Tony’s shoulder as he passed him. “Tell me if you need anything.”

Scaling the stairs only to end up sprawled on the last step of his floor was near impossible, Peter found, but eventually, he stumbled back into his room, and onto his unnecessarily large mattress. Grabbing the new StarkCell he was supplied with on the day of his move in, he clicked the group chat open to type out a message to MJ and Ned, simultaneously. He was so tired, yet here he was, keeping himself awake so he could tell his peeps what had happened. He was such a good friend.

**_PeetSTAR:  
_ ** _You would NOT believe what just went down._

**_LeederNed:_ ** _  
wut?_

**_BaeEmmJayy:_ ** _  
??_

**_PeetSTAR:  
_ ** _Finally got to see THE Tony Stark._

**_LeederNed:_ ** _  
and???_

**_LeederNed:_ ** _  
peter earth to peter_

**_BaeEmmJayy:_** __  
I swaer to fuck parker if you’re takin a nap  
*swear

The tiny screen started to blur before Peter’s eyes, and he never got around to actually telling MJ or Ned about the status of things between the Stark brothers because before he knew it, he had already drifted off to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

When Tony had said he wasn’t going to be home, Peter expected his absence. What Peter didn’t expect was for Tony’s absence to last a few _weeks_.

“ –ter. Earth to Peter,” a voice called out.

“W-wha? I’m sorry; you lost me for a minute,” Peter smiled apologetically.

“Yeah,” Ned grumbled, “no kidding.” MJ looked at him speculatively, a contemplative frown on her face.

“What’s up?” she asked.

“Uhh what makes you think something’s up?” Peter asked, nervously.

“Your voice gets high just like that, your leg won’t stop jiggling, and you look like you’re about to cry,” Ned answered automatically without looking up from his phone.

Peter gaped, willing his leg to still. “I do not!”

Ned and MJ both shot him incredulous looks, two sets of eyebrows raised.

“Alright, alright,” Peter grumbled, guiltily scratching his cheek. “I’m thinking about Mr. Stark,” he then quietly admitted, sipping at his drink to prevent himself from saying anymore.

MJ snorted, unsurprised, “When aren’t you?” Ned hummed in agreement.

“Guys, I’m serious. He hasn’t been home for _weeks_ ,” Peter stressed, “and I don’t know if he’s okay or not.”

“Peter,” MJ retorted instantly, “you don’t _need_ to know if he’s okay or not. That’s the beauty of someone being an adult. They can do whatever they want, and if something happens, it’s _their_ fault, not yours.”

“Yeah man,” Ned replied, “and besides, he’s sort of a big shot. He could be anywhere in the world right now; closing business deals, signing autographs, fuckin’ bitches.” He shot finger guns at MJ’s unimpressed glare and looked to Peter for support. “What? I’m not wrong,” he insisted.

Peter grumbled uneasily, feeling his hackles rise.

“Aah,” Ned said in understanding, “that’s why you’re upset. Because I’m not wrong.”

MJ reached to touch Peter’s arm, concern saturating her face, “Ned’s just kidding.” But that was the problem, wasn’t it? Ned wasn’t kidding. Ned probably being right was what made the whole thing so much worse.

But what did Peter care anyway? It wasn’t like what Peter felt was anything serious. Even if he did have feelings for his now foster father, it was born out of something juvenile, a childish hero worship type of obsession. Surely not enough reason to be getting so upset over, right?

Hah.

“ –ter?” Ned whispered urgently, “Peteeerrrrrr.”

“Peter wake the fuck up before I smack you,” MJ snapped, voice hushed, “there’s a dude that’s been staring at you for a while now and now he’s coming over here. Don’t. Look.”

Peter swiveled his head, making Ned snort on his stifled laughter.

“I said not to fucking _look_ , Parker, you shit,” MJ hissed.

Peter didn’t see anyone he knew, but upon hearing a familiar “baby boy” whispered in his ear, he turned his torso automatically, a large welcoming grin encompassing his face automatically. “Wade!” he cried out happily, arms opening wide to circle the man in front of him. “Guys, this is Wade Wilson, the dude I told you about,” he gestured excitedly to his friends.

“You weren’t kidding when you said he was big,” MJ said drily, eyes darting back and forth from Peter’s enthusiasm to Wade’s shoulders and impressive height.

Peter colored, mumbling a weak, “Shut up. She’s only kidding Wade, don’t listen to her, she’s only kidding,” as his shoulders steadily crept up towards his hot ears.

Wade chuckled lowly and replied, “That’s what he’s been saying about me? That I’m big?”

Ned nodded, “Yep. That and that you have a gorgeous smi– Ouch, Peter, whaaat?” he whined.

“That wasn’t Peter,” MJ said, shooting daggers at her friend while Peter looked down at his drink, mortified. “Okay whelp,” she went on, clapping her hands together, standing, “we’re just about done here, so I’m gonna take this little guy,” she jerked a thumb at Ned’s sheepish expression, “and dip. Text us, Parker, I _mean it_.”

“Bye, Pete,” Ned called over his shoulder as MJ manhandled him by his sleeve. Peter waved back, now made more aware of Wade’s looming presence behind him.

Peter looked up at him, sipping his drink through a straw. Should he ask what Wade was doing on campus? “Want to sit?” he asked instead, gesturing to the empty chairs.

Wade looked at him curiously before slowly lowering himself to a seat, his body language on edge. “What’s wrong?” Peter asked, furrowing his eyebrows, “do you wanna sit on the other side? There’s plenty of chairs.” He smiled at Wade.

Wade stilled, still staring at Peter’s confused expression before relaxing bit by bit and then chuckling softly to himself. “Apparently nothing’s wrong,” Wade replied, amused. “You attend NYU?” he asked, “I figured you for an MIT or a Columbia kid.”

Peter smiled readily, appreciating the compliment for what it was. “Yeah, MIT was my top pick, but I’d have to sell my virginity or my kidneys if I wanted to get in,” he replied wistfully, “and Columbia was good, right, but NYU had this photography program I was really interested in. And if I can’t be in MIT doing engineering, something I _love_ , at least I can be here, doing something I _like_ …” Peter trailed off, noticing the weighted look that Wade was giving him, “but I’m probably boring you with all my–”

“No,” Wade insisted, “tell me about you. I like hearing all about you.” He smiled, showing a row of perfectly white teeth, momentarily stalling Peter’s reply in favor of staring at Wade’s transformed face in wonder. God, Peter thought, Wade’s so

“… handsome.”

Wade barked out a surprised disbelieving laugh, “Is that right, Petey-baby?”

Peter looked back at him blankly, “Is what right?” Jesus, he really hoped he didn’t say that out loud. God, imagine if he did? He’d never live it down.

Wade looked away, shaking his head in reply. “Be careful, sweetheart,” Wade murmured, “got me feeling all kinds of things at this rate.” Peter colored, fumbling the cup he still held loosely in his hand. “So what’ve you got planned for today? Classes?”

Peter grinned, “Oh I don’t start school this sem, so no classes yet. I didn’t think I’d get to, what with all the,” Peter gestured at the air with his hands randomly, “stuff going on. Thought I’d have to get multiple jobs and whatever. I’m glad I get to go to college at all.” He paused. “I’m relieved to have a place to _sleep_ , even,” he trailed off thoughtfully, murmuring out the end of his sentence. He was lucky. Not everyone had a hero to just sweep in and give them shelter, food, funding. Maybe even a family. Peter visibly brightened, remembering where he was and who he was with. “I just dropped by to see my friends. I’m glad you came by.” He smiled warmly at Wade.

“Yeah. I’m starting to see that,” Wade replied, eyes intensely mapping out Peter’s features. “You know,” he exhaled haltingly, “you’d be the first.”

“First what?” Peter asked, tilting his head.

“First person who’s happy to see me,” Wade paused, thinking, “at least in a while.” Peter balked.

“What about your friends? I’m sure they’re always happy to see you,” he replied vehemently, hating the lonely look in Wades blue eyes. His shoulders were starting to hunch. Defeat didn’t suit him, Peter thought.

“ _What_ friends?” Wade scoffed, looking away, “I’ve got a handler, sort of like a manager or coach for work, but he’s around because I make him good money. And that’s about it. Even then, I’m sure he’d leave if I wasn’t so great at my job.”

“Your job?” Peter echoed curiously. The unusual term “handler” stood out to him, calling images of “assassin” or “spy” to the forefront of his mind. Is that what Wade did? He was a contract killer? Or a mercenary or something?

“I’m a cage fighter,” Wade replied, watching Peter from the corner of his eyes, “I do the whole mixed martial arts thing, I travel the world, live the fast life, all that.” He sighed. “I’d be getting laid super easily, too, if I didn’t look like this.”

Peter was dazzled by Wade’s profession at first, his lips opening slightly in an impressed “o” of surprise, only to form a pout when the other man finished his tale. “You look great, Wade,” Peter stated firmly, eyeing the man’s obviously chiseled facial features and massive muscular stature. “You could pull anyone you wanted, I bet. You’ve just never tried.”

Wade snorted, “Mhmm, sure.” He shoved his fists in the pockets of his black hoodie, curling in on himself. “Maybe if the accident never happened, I could. I used to be a baby model, you know. Got paid millions for every ad,” he babbled.

“Wade,” Peter said softly, hand on his forearm, “I’m serious.” Wade met his eyes. “You’re gorgeous.” It was embarrassing, Wade thought, how he couldn’t look away. He wanted Peter to convince him, even though he knew it was true. “Besides, I think the scars make you look sorta, like, dangerously hot. It’s sexy,” Peter insisted.

Wade laughed loudly, heart feeling far too full, “Yeah?” This kid was gonna kill him.

Peter nodded a sneaky look in his eyes, and quipped, “Mhmm. Bet the ladies are all over you when you fight with your shirt off. I’ve seen your abs.”

Wade’s chuckles mellowed out to a pointed silence before he answered, “Ladies like my abs ok. They appreciate the tree trunk arms, though.” Peter laughed, unsurprised. Yeah. Wade had nice arms; his biceps were larger than Peter’s head. The easy comparison made it hard to forget, and Peter didn’t need the reminder. Wade glanced quickly at him before finishing with, “it’s the guys that tend to like my abs more.”

Peter paused, his stomach jumping into his chest. He cleared his throat and asked, “And do you?”

“Do I what?” Wade teased, making Peter flush. The younger man refused to look at him because he could _feel_ Wade’s bright blue eyes sparkle with mirth. Well if he wanted it spelled out, Peter would do just that.

“Do you tend to like them back?” Peter said bravely to the home screen of his phone, aimlessly sliding the pages of his apps. Wade stilled, his gaze a hot and weighty thing settling on Peter’s shoulders, and consequently, shooting a tingling warmth to the pit of his stomach.

They could both feel the air between them roil and thicken into some unnamed, fragile, and thrilling thing; so here they were, speaking as frankly as the situation allowed.

“Yeah,” Wade finally replied, yanking his gaze away, “I like them back.” His chest tightened when he heard Peter’s slow, relieved exhale at his answer.

This thing could cut them both if they broke it, it seemed, but it also felt like it had the potential to soften and broaden into something more.

* * *

Ever since the unspoken bridge had been built between Peter and Wade, it was seldom you’d find one without the other.

It wasn’t long before someone took notice.

“Peter,” Vision called to Peter across the way, “can I speak to you for a minute?” Wade shot Vision a dirty look as Peter untangled his limbs from the shared blanket.

“Yeah?” Peter asked, eyes bright, smile easy.

“Is there… Wade isn’t…?” Vision paused, trying to find the right words, “Is he bothering you in any way? Is he making you uncomfortable?” He stopped, watching the frown on Peter’s face grow. “He’s relentless sometimes, so if he–”

“He hasn’t done anything wrong,” Peter replied, brow furrowed.

“Yet,” Vision murmured under his breath, and was taken slightly aback at the icy look Peter shot him.

“He’s been good,” Peter insisted sternly, offended on Wade’s behalf. “He’s… sweet to me.” Peter peered over his shoulder, looking fondly at the back of Wade’s bald head. “He’s a good man,” he finished quietly, firmly.

Vision sighed through his nose. “I know he can be, but I’m just asking to make sure that to _you_ , _presently_ , he _is_.” Peter’s remained quiet, crossing his arms instead of answering Vision’s prompting silence. Vision sighed again, resigned, “I just want to really stress that your wellbeing is my priority, here, Peter, that’s all. I’m sure Wade is… Wade, and that he’s… his version of ‘great’. But on the off chance that it changes, know that me and Tony are here for you, too.”

Peter raised an eyebrow at Vision, giving him a look. “Really? Because I haven’t seen Tony anywhere. I haven’t seen him at all in the last month, actually.” Vision shook his head, unimpressed with Peter’s defensive ire.

“Just keep it in mind, alright? Just because someone doesn’t mean to hurt you doesn’t mean they won’t.” Peter nodded grudgingly, then padded back to the large sectional couch, sleeping pants slung low on his hips. He was sure Vision meant well, they all did, but Wade was nice. He was genuine, funny, and kind. So what if he was a little be rough around the edges? Weren’t they all?

“He’s right you know,” Wade said gruffly, eyes fixed straight ahead at the cinema sized tv, “you might not like me all the time, baby boy. I’ve done some things–”

“I don’t care.” Wade’s gaze flickered to him briefly, surprised at the near yell he gave in response. Peter cleared his throat, and continued at a more reasonable volume, “I don’t care. I’m an adult. You’re nice to me. You’re nice _now_. That matters. The _now_ matters.” By the time Peter finished his piece in a tone a little less than pleading, he looked up and saw Wade’s intense heavy gaze resting on his face, fond, if not a little exasperated.

The now mattered to Peter, because looking back, it was all he had.

His parents died when he was young, and the last memory he had of them was screaming at his mom in a grocery isle over whether or not it was fair of her to pick the generic brand over the “real” Trix cereal. “Trix are for kids, mom” he had said, “that cereal isn’t even for kids. I’m a _kid_ , you know? A _child_? That thing you decided to have, but don’t have time for?” Peter’s mom got so mad, she dropped him off at home without any food at all, saying something about “not having any time for this” and having a “work project they had to take care off”. He remembers viciously screeching for his parents to go out and buy him the cereal, or not to bother coming home at all, as they walked out the door.

That very same night, they didn’t. 

Then there was Uncle Ben. He was a great man, Peter knew that later, but as a child, he had hated him on sight, more out of principle than anything. He looked and sounded far too much like his father, acted and fussed over Peter a little too much like his mother. And that never sat well with him because Peter’s parents were dead, and stupid Uncle Ben had no right, _no right_ trying to pretend like he was Peter’s new parent now because Uncle Ben made for a piss poor replacement. Peter never held back on telling him so either, and in the end, wasted too much time keeping Uncle Ben away. When Peter finally did get close enough to appreciate him, they had a fight, one little fight, and the last Peter saw of his uncle was the turn of his back, and the chill of his disappointment.

As luck would have it, May happened shortly after. Fortunately, her passing wasn’t as abrupt as all the tragedies that came before, but it wasn’t any less devastating. Growing up the way he did, it was no wonder he grew attachments to people too soon and too deeply.

Peter knew this. The man sitting next to him wasn’t going to be made an exception to what life decided to cleave into Peter’s nature.

So yes. Wade’s now mattered. Because now was all he had.

Peter peaked at his tv show marathon companion, feeling his nerves increase at the unwavering stare. Wade looked like he was sitting just a little too close than what he last remembered, but that must have been Peter’s fault; he had scooted closer to him after the conversation with Vision, unconsciously seeking out the larger man’s comfort.

The slow brush of skin behind his ear jarred Peter out of his thoughts, and his eyes widened at Wade’s proximity. Wade’s hand was resting on the back of the sofa, next to Peter’s head. “Your hair was in your eyes. I was just…” Wade trailed off in explanation, his voice gravelly and slow.

Peter’s gaze wandered to the phantom touch, and couldn’t help but notice the sheer size of Wade’s palm so close to his head. Wade was just so _big_. Hungry hazel eyes crawled up the lines of thick corded muscles only to pause appreciatively as it met an expansive firm chest. A wide throat with a prominent well cut jaw that was working itself over and over, as if it could feel the trail of Peter’s gaze like a physical touch as it swept past each inch of coveted skin. Peter audibly swallowed.

They were just so _close_.

He stole a quick look at Wade’s lips, and instinctively licked his own. Wade let out an injured sound, and Peter’s huge hazel eyes guiltily snapped back on Wade’s half lidded blue. “Y’gotta stop lookin’ at me like that, baby boy,” he murmured brokenly, face looking pained.

“Or what?” Peter whispered back, half nervous, half daring.

Wade growled, “Or _this_.”

In a move far too quick for Peter’s muddled brain to comprehend, Wade swiftly cupped the back of his head and drew him in a searing kiss. Peter gasped, feeling it all at once. Gentle, achingly so, in the way that the fingers slowly rubbed the nape of his neck, massaging, but rough in the press of soft lips and the urgent slide of wet hot tongue.

Each nibble, each stolen breath in between the passionate press of tangled tongue ended with Peter giving a pathetic whimper whenever either of them made the slightest motion to move away. With every sound Wade was able to coax out of Peter, his hunger and urgency grew tenfold. It wasn’t long before Peter found Wade slotted firmly between his plush thighs, Wade’s other hand gripping the generous globe of his ass. In his kisses, Wade felt all consuming, taking as much as he could get, adept in the art of skin.

The groan Wade whispered into his mouth made Peter feel all powerful, and he found himself making sounds he had no idea he was capable of.

Though still clothed, their moans of approval and huffs of impatience littered and echoed in the open space, curious hands roamed over fevered persons as two bodies undulating against one another participated in a type of dance, a silent conversation.

I am hungry, one seemed to say, I’m starved, and I’m greedy and I’m needy and I will never ever have enough of anything, no matter what it is, once I get my hands on it. My appetite is never ending, my greed is everlasting, and I am nothing, if not gluttonous.

I have too much, the other answered, I have too much because I am too much, I do too much and I have a lot to give. I am a _feast_ and you shall never hunger again because I will always have more than you can gorge yourself with, but to feed means to _stay_ and you will never ever be allowed to leave.

And so they were reduced to sounds, motions, and feeling because words eluded them both.

But words didn’t quite escape one.

“What the _hell_ is going on here?” Tony asked, fury making his inquiry sound like a statement.

Both Wade and Peter froze.

* * *

“I don’t see what the big deal is,” Pepper said, high heels clicking after Tony as he paced in the privacy of the master bedroom, “they’re both consenting adults.” Tony threw his head back and scoffed loudly. “I actually think it’s sweet. I never imagined Wade would find someone to make him happy.”

“The _problem_ ,” Tony hissed, anger evident in the scrunch of his brow, the scowl etched on his face, “is that fucking Wade has never known how to take care of a good fucking thing, Pepper. Never. Not once. And all he’s had are good things. He wrecks them all. Wilson. _WRECKS_. Every. Single. One. That’s what they _do_ , Pepper, that’s what Wilsons _do_. They take whatever belongs to a Stark and they wreck it until it’s _nothing_.” Tony couldn’t help but think back to the car crash that killed Jarvis, his butler, his friend, really, and his parents. They were on their way to a marriage counselor, a fucking _marriage counselor_ , because Hailey fucking Wilson couldn’t keep her whore legs closed and decided to ride a wrecking ball through an otherwise happy family.

Well. Happy _enough_ family.

“That’s the problem?” Pepper asked, raising a fine blonde eyebrow at what she thought was Tony’s disproportionate amount of anger, “You’re scared Wade’s going to hurt Peter? Please, Tony, I’ve seen Wade have a crush before. He’s a sweetheart when he’s infatuated.”

Tony gave her a distracted huff of laughter. “It’s not hard to be a sweet to you, Pepper, but Peter’s not like you. And this feels different, not some passing crush or whatever. It doesn’t feel healthy. It feels…” Tony fumbled with his cufflinks. “Obsessive. Peter’s just a kid and he’s under my care–”

Pepper stepped up behind him, slipping her arms around his torso, fingers deftly unbuttoning his designer dress shirt. “Peter’s not under your _anything_ right now, I am. So let me help with that,” she murmurs coyly, hands sliding on his bare chest in an attempt to entice him.

And Pepper’s right, isn’t she? Peter isn’t under Tony’s anything.

Actually, no, scratch that. He is.

Peter is under his _skin_.

Even worse, Peter right now is probably under his _brother_.

So looking down at Pet-Pepper on her knees, asking for permission to distract him, Tony lets her.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This plot is mine. DO NOT TRANSLATE OR REPOST ANYWHERE ELSE.  
> If y'all have noticed that this is the second time I upload this pic, you are correct. I had to close out my other AO3 account for reasons I'll tell you about if you send me a DM on twitter :)  
> Please leave a kudos and a comment. :) Chapter count is likely to change.  
> I love engaging with my readers! (The ending is likely subject to change, depending on what the readers want to see)  
> Follow me on twitter: @pinkmilk_fics


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